Rules of the Game
by Carmen Wayne
Summary: Batgirl/Cassandra explains to Spoiler how to deal with other heroes during a night of patrol after her own personal analyzation of Oracle/Batgirl


Author's Note: Danke to all those who helped me battle my writer's block at least this much! THANK YOU! It feels good to at least finish one story. I think this is the first I've finished in several months. PLUS, this is the first story I've done like this in first character! Go me! And I'm sorry if the title doesn't REALLY fit the story, I'm a loser.  
  
Rating: Gish to PGish (never good at this rating thing.)  
  
Legalities: All characters are property of DC Comics and their respective owners.  
  
Rules to the Game By: Carmen (Kara) Wayne  
  
She does this every night. When she thinks she's alone, when she thinks everyone is busy doing what their lives call for, she takes the time to reminisce. Be it looking at pictures of years past, or playing with the arms of her little Batgirl doll, that is how it usually goes.  
Tonight is no different. She's just signed off with the Black Canary, who decided it best for herself to take a nap while on a plane ride to God-knows-where. Beforehand, the conversation was rather blatant.  
"My legs are so sore," Canary muttered, voice coming out of the speakers in a hum around Barbara.  
"Then maybe you should try less talking which leads to more fighting than necessary, Dinah. And for God's sake, do you always have to keep kicking men between the legs?"  
"There is no statute of limitations on what injury I'm allowed to inflict when they've got a gun, Madam Prophet."  
"Punch them in the nose, Dinah, punch them in the *nose*."  
"Oh please. You get up and go out there and see what you do."  
This caused Barbara to produce a light snort into her microphone.  
"'Get up and go out there', Dinah?"  
The tone that followed was quiet, now aware of what, precisely, she said.  
"Metaphorically speaking, of course."  
"Of course," Barbara resigned, leaning an elbow on the armrest of her chair and setting her chin in the palm.  
"Look, uh, golly-gee, am I tired! I'm turning in now, you know, five more hours to Beijing and this in-flight movie really bites some serious-"  
"Ah-ha, no cussing in front of Superman," Barbara said, waving a Superman action figure around as if the Canary could see.  
"Heh, sorry. goodnight, Barb."  
"Goodnight, Dinah."  
Canary unintentionally hit a nerve. A lot of people seem to do that to Barbara. They don't mean to, and she knows that, but it's the little comments that sometimes hit the worst. The last thing she wants is sympathy or to be treated incapacitated for her disability. And she knows that no one really does-no one except for herself. The abuse she gives herself in seclusion makes it incredibly difficult for her to move on and to grow.  
She sat in the dark afterwards, lights from her screensavers her only way to see, playing with the small little Batgirl doll she owned-a small reminder of what she once was. Many thoughts probably ran through her head. Maybe it was the memories of cool nights, swinging over rooftops with Robin the Boy Wonder at her side, making quip after quip in an attempt to win her heart. Perhaps the knowledge that in reality, while many criminals tried to harm her in her day, they respected her as well became present. She still remembered that from when Harley Quinn posed as the original Batgirl and went on a tirade of chaos across Gotham.  
Or maybe, just maybe, the thought that she had touched true greatness through that costume, that outlet, and because of one fateful night and one bullet, she never again would taste that feeling of superiority as it were that the suit, and her title, provided over the commonplace citizen.  
Night after night I wonder to myself why she allowed me to take on her name, even if the costume wasn't the same. I was a girl with no words, no thought, and yet she endowed me with a trust so unfamiliar yet so welcome. At times, I feel that's all that's driving me forward-the knowledge that she entrusted me with this, and that I must keep her faith strong, for any failure will cause her confidence to snap like a weakened thread.  
As I came out of the back rooms, I decided it best to give her time to cover her emotions. I flipped the switch of the lights in the room up and they flashed on. Barbara quickly wiped her eyes and placed her doll back atop her computer screen.  
"Playing with toys?" I joked, smiling just faintly.  
Barbara let a small laugh escape her lips.  
"Oh, hush up, you'd do it too. I bet you you do, when I'm asleep. Sneak in here and play model-show."  
"Riiight," I replied, humored. I swung my cowl around my index finger as I watched her. "I'm going out tonight."  
With that, she turned to me and turned completely professional.  
"Are you going to be with anyone?" she asked.  
"Spoiler," I replied.  
My internal thoughts may be incredibly literate, but my mouth has yet to catch up. So sue me.  
"Spoiler.?" Barbara asked, crinkling her nose in faint disapproval.  
"She needs to be watched," I said in defense of my actions.  
"I see. Is *he* making you watch her?"  
"No. I am."  
"Well, you be careful, okay?" she asked.  
I nodded and slipped the cowl on in a fluid motion. As I went for the window, I noticed her shoulders rise and then slink down, as if to the movement of a sigh, and she turned from viewing me. I just continued out like I had better things to do, into the cool June night.  
Spoiler is an admirable girl, I must admit. I let her handle a couple of muggers on her very own, and she did so, only nearly getting hit twice. Which was an improvement from the week before, when she did get hit twice. She showed me that she still had the bruises at the beginning of out meeting.  
At one point, we were on the prowl of a sexual offender that had been spotted in Robinson Park. While I watched the park carefully, Spoiler watched any passing women below our perch on a building near the park, just in case. It was a quiet half hour, with the occasional intake of air she would make, as if she wanted to say something, and then the sharp outtake as she changed her mind. Finally, around 12:30 AM, she decided to say what was on her mind.  
"So. can. I ask you something? To a superhero that's in the loop, from one that's. not?" she asked.  
"Go ahead," I replied shortly.  
"Well. what're the rules of the game?" she asked. When I looked at her with a cowl-shifting raised eyebrow, she went to sit on the building edge from her perch-stance and watched me. "I mean. superhero etiquette. How you behave between each other, how you act in awkward situations."  
I continued to stare at her, eyebrow quirked because I had no idea why she was asking that. She let out a long sigh.  
"Robin. he always gets upset when I do things around certain heroes, so there's obviously got to be some sort of. code, right? A set of rules to the game of handling one another."  
I too sat on the rooftop at this and let my eyes set out on the entrance to the park. As I thought about her question, I began to think about Barbara, Dinah, Robin and the others.  
"Never talk more than they will allow," I said. "Robin allows you to talk. Robin will talk back. Batman prefers silence. Oracle will talk when need to." I internally wondered if my slip there was bad for grammar or good for missing her gender. "Canary. banters. Nightwing too. And only talk in ways that make them feel comfortable. they will do the same. It works, believe me."  
"I guess talking in too much in some cases annoys them, huh?"  
"Yes. most of it is really common sense. There is only really one thing you should remember."  
"And what's that?"  
"Hang on."  
A woman, jogging out of the park, yet about thirty feet from the gates, caught my eye. for the fact that a man was slinking after her in the shadows, clutching an object in his hand. He was wrapped tight in a trench coat.  
"I think that's our baddie," Spoiler said, I believe trying to keep what I said in mind.  
I nodded and launched out a grappling hook to a light post. Knowing Spoiler would be close behind, I leapt off the edge and let the cord retract so I could make a clear arch under and around the post to time it just right, and get between the jogger and the man. That was simple enough. A twist of the legs here, a pivot of my hips there, and I was over her and in front of him in no time.  
The man wasn't much. I could see why someone like the tiny lady jogger would have a hard time with him, he was probably about Nightwing's size. But nothing, really. In his hand, he clutched a pipe. Imagine his surprise when I landed there. I could hear Spoiler making a not so light landing behind me as a cuss word flew out and she crashed on her knees. Amateur.  
"What in the Hell--?!" he yelled in alarm.  
Why must they always yell that? Utterly annoying. A spin, a kick up into his jaw, and he was down.  
Of course, the amateur had to ruin it all. When she hit, she tripped the jogger, unbeknownst to me, and ended up getting kicked in the stomach by the defensive woman. So the jogger knew how to defend herself after all. As I went to help her up, I also misjudged the man. He took the hit better than expected and was on his feet and running. Disturbingly enough, my mistake not only sent him running, but sent his trench coat flying, giving me a preview of jiggling butt muscles and a flapping piece of man- body I had no desire of seeing on anyone. except for maybe Superboy. Shh.  
I got to running after him, and I could hear Spoiler behind me. I give her that much due credit-the girl is in great shape. She's a sweet one too, I'll give her that as well, and we have somewhat similar backgrounds as far as home goes. But where my "father" abused me to teach me to be strong, hers did just. because he could.  
Spoiler was laughing a bit behind me at the spectacle of us chasing this naked loony down through Robinson Park. Thankfully, it was nighttime. Anyone that saw this deserved it. They shouldn't be out in the park at this time of night anyway. Don't these people have homes to go to?  
At one point, he tried to make a fast turn and cut into shrubbery, but he had forgotten about the earlier day's rains and the rubber, but slick souls on his shoes didn't have the traction of our boots. His feet slipped out from under him and he crash-landed back first into the paved walkway. I went to get his hands tied and for God's sake his trench coat shut, while the amateur laughed her head off.  
"Aw man, this is great. He's trying to be, like, Trench Coat Man or something! Ha!"  
I stood and looked at her after fastening the man's arms behind his back and his face under my boot.  
"Hero to Villain rule number one. Never laugh at the small time ones. They are the ones to come back worse than Joker."  
That turned her quiet while she thought about that. Fine by me, of course, I wanted to get this grungy man away. He smelled after a smell that Canary had once so delicately called 'Poo-Poo Sniff Icky'. I never knew what 'Poo-Poo Sniff Icky' smelled like, and that even left our lovely Oracle confused. But now I'm sure Barbara would love to learn I have discovered a smell to match the term. I'm serious. A skunk could have sprayed him and he could have rolled around in rotting fish and smelled better.  
It was no time at all to lug him to a local horseback officer, who's horse even objected to the criminal cargo. But I was able to rejoin with Spoiler, who was sitting in a tree, staring into space, mask lifted up to her brow.  
"You shouldn't do that," I commented.  
She looked at me, blinking.  
"Do what?"  
"Your mask. Never out here."  
"Huh-oh!" She quickly pulled it down over her face and gave off a sheepish laugh. "Sorry. So, uhm. Batgirl." She slid out of the tree next to me. "What was that one rule you said that. was most important?"  
I had to smile faintly. There was hope for her, if she was really willing to listen to anything I had to say. But then I began to think of a good, coherent way to say it. That's when my mind trailed back to Barbara, and her sorrow as she gently played with her little Batgirl doll. The tears she let fall in the shadows. The pain she tried to hide, yet I saw all too well. Slowly, I brought my cape over my shoulders to curtain my entire body.  
"Let. comrades believe they have secrets. even if you know."  
".what?"  
"If. your partner believes they know something you don't. If they believe they have success-full-y hidden. their identity or their pain. humor them."  
"Humor them?" she asked as if she were a seven-year-old learning about the truth of Santa Claus.  
I gave her a nod. I continued, speaking slowly so I could speak properly.  
"One finds security. in one's secrets. submit to that. Even if you see someone you care for deeply. hurting, you must not say a thing. Secrets are our true safe place. If you run around. telling people you know who they are behind their masks. whether it be real masks, or masks of. emotion. they become violated. Humor them. let them believe they have one up from you. think of how you would feel in the situation. Even. if it kills you to see them hurting. or locked in their little bubble. let them. They will come to you. should the need arise. and anyway, the moment they know someone knows a deep secret of theirs, they will be so busy. defending from you because it was without. permission, they will change. Very few times. are these masks self-destructive."  
I thought about my own words for the rest of the night, oddly enough.  
When I got back to the Clocktower, I found Barbara asleep on her keyboard. This wasn't exactly a rare occurrence; there were times she'd work herself for two, three days at a time. I simply went and got her blanket from her bedroom and brought it out to cover her. I lifted her head just a bit to move the keyboard and slide a bid of blanket in its place. She must have really crashed, because she didn't stir a bit. After I finished this, I gently brushed hair from her cheek and let out a faint sigh.  
We can all see how badly she's hurting. And there are some of us that can see other secrets in her heart that she has never said a word about. But that's a rule of the game-let them have their shield of secrets. Everyone has their secrets and everyone needs them to feel like they have some sort of unique quality to this world. Some don't feel it as that as much as a way to convince others, and themselves, that they are stronger or weaker, or better or worse than their true selves. That is why I humor poor Barbara. that is why I let her cry every night without comforting her. That is her time to let her secrets out to everyone she wishes to know-herself. 


End file.
